Breakfast Thoughts and Hogsmeade Adventures
by demonkatgurl17
Summary: Harry is distracted one morning and finally figures out how to get a leg over. Set in HBP. Part 8 in HP & the Series of Degrading Events.


This is part of a series, so if you haven't read the first 7, you might get lost, sorry not sorry.

Warnings: rape/noncon elements, underage, gangbang, molestation, implied pregnancy and abortion, rough sex, blackmail, feels, double penetration. You have been warned, flamers will be laughed at and shot on sight.

* * *

Oct. 31, 1996

Harry stirred his breakfast listlessly around his plate as Hermione rambled on, zoning out. He felt out of sorts and he couldn't figure out why. He found himself staring towards the top of the Hall, at the teachers' table. Most of the chairs where empty, as classes were about to start for the day, but Professor Dumbledore was still there, idly chatting with Professor Flitwick, seemingly very interested in whatever the tiny wizard had to squeak about.

Something niggled in the back of Harry's mind as he stared at the Headmaster.

Harry hadn't seen him much since their second meeting a week and a half ago. Not that Harry thought that he would, Dumbledore himself had said he was busy poking about, searching for…_something_, Harry supposed.

_That_ lesson had been interesting and…uncomfortable. The version of Tom Riddle before his Hogwarts years had been surprisingly relatable, to Harry at least. Harry understood how being different had made Riddle a target, how tempting it would be to use magic against other kids who might try to mess with him. As a child, Harry's magic had always been accidental, cropping up when lease expected (and least wanted) and had only managed to get him in deeper trouble in the end. If he'd had Riddle's power, his _control_…well, Diddykins certainly would have made sure to steer clear of Harry.

Looking at little Tom Riddle Jr, Harry could the cleverness, the thirst for knowledge and power that would grow and define Britain's most powerful Dark Lord since Grindelwald, but…he could also see a child, alone, unloved, and just as in need of guidance as any young wizard. Maybe, if someone had just taken the _time_-

"Harry, are you listening?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah I'm listening," Harry muttered, his eyes still on Dumbledore.

Had the Professor tried to reach Riddle? Really tried? Or had he left that responsibility up to Slughorn, who only seemed to involve himself with students when it served his own needs. If that was the case, it was no wonder that Riddle had turned out the way he had.

"Are you sure? You still seem a little…out of it. I really think you should tell Dumbledore. What if the pensieve gives one side effects with repeated use? It could be _serious_, Harry, the dizziness, the memory loss-"

"I'm _fine_, Hermione," Harry groaned, exasperated by his friend's concern. When Hermione only seemed to get more upset, he relented. "Look, the next time I get a chance, I'll ask him, alright?" That seemed to cheer her up a bit.

Though she did have a point.

After his second meeting with Dumbledore, there had been another time lapse. For the life of him, Harry couldn't remember the journey from Dumbledore's office to Gryffindor tower. It was odd, he'd never zoned out so badly that he'd ended up going from one side of the castle to another without realizing it. For one, there were just too many things that moved independently - invariable _something_ would catch the eye. And then there was the sick feeling again, worse than the time before. Harry nearly skipped the next day's first class in favor of lying curled up in bed before Hermione nagged him to either go to class or the hospital wing.

It was weird, even to him. Perhaps he would bring it up to the Headmaster next time.

Hermione had resumed her lecture and Harry's gaze drifted along Gryffindor table, lingering here and there on the more handsome boys, imagining how eager they would be to help the Chosen One find some release...

But none of them could help him, not with Ginny's _stupid_ ultimatum, and whatever hope Harry had had of ensnaring Snape into any more trysts had been all but dashed. The surly man refused to give Harry the time of day, much less another detention. Harry had never had so much trouble getting _into _a detention before. Every infraction Harry engineered only resulted in points lost. After Gryffindor was down 50 points in one lesson alone, Harry more or less got the hint.

But it had _seven_ weeks since he'd been fucked to oblivion on his own butt plug, and nearly _eight_ weeks since he was last _properly_ fucked. Harry felt that he would go mad if he had to go the rest of term with no one's hand but his own.

Suddenly, he realized that Ginny was watching him. He stared her down, watched her lean over to whisper something into Dean's ear, a coy smile playing about her lips. She moved closer to Dean, pressed her body tight along his side so that her lovely new curves could tease him, making Dean flush darkly and squirm in his seat while Ginny "absently" toyed with his tie, whispering whispering whispering and all while keeping her eyes locked with Harry's. Her lips were puffy and red, _just_ swollen enough to hint that earlier there'd been wrapped around Dean's cock, just as like last night after Quidditch when Harry had walked in on them in dormitory.

Ginny's mouth was certainly busy because Harry had happened upon her _using_ it with a number of Gryffindors.

Ginny's hand drifted down under the table and Dean twitched, covering up a groan with a cough.

This was too much.

Making hasty excuses, Harry all but fled the hall, willing himself to ignore random pretty faces (likely with pretty cocks to match) or, most _especially_, the throbbing in his trousers, blessedly hidden under his robes, but aching all the same, though he could ignore that about as well as he'd ignored Ginny's spiteful attack just now.

_Bathroom... Need to get to a bathroom..._ Harry desperately thought.

If he could get behind the safety of a stall, then he could brace against the flimsy door and whisper some choice enhancements that Arthur had been kind enough to send him through messages funneled by the twins. The dirty letters (and the spells that did lovely lovely things to the plug inside him) were probably the only things keeping Harry from going mad because what he_ really_ needed was to be pushed against a wall and-

"Potter!"

Harry groaned softly as he turned to face Professor McGonagall, who rounded the corner of corridor he'd just passed. "Yes Professor?"

"How is the team coming among? Any...ah, _progress_, from last week? The last time I happened by the field, Weasley had nearly brained himself one of the keeper poles." She grimaced lightly at the memory.

Harry remembered that training session as well. It was lucky McGonagall hadn't been to last night's session because, somehow, it had been_ worse_.

"Ah..._yes_. Yes, it's um... it's going much better," he lied through his teeth, pissed that it wasn't true because his first year captain was practically a joke, not that it was _completely_ his fault. "Just a few things to work on before the match, but we'll be ready," Harry assured her, knowing full well it wasn't likely that Ron's nerves would straighten his left from his right in just _two days_, but what else could Harry say?

"Good. Good to hear, Potter! As it happens," she dropped down to a whisper, surreptitiously looking around to make sure she wasn't overheard, "as it happens, I have a little wager on this match with Professor Snape and I'd hate to lose. He'll be unbearable for the rest of the matches."

How Snape was bearable otherwise was anyone's guess.

"Well, Professor, I've got to get going, er... Studying and all to do..." His cock gave an unpleasant throb that he never ever ever wanted to mentally associate with his Head of House, but if she didn't let him leave quick...

"Yes yes," McGonagall tittered, making shooing motions that Harry heeded as the professor strode off.

And none too soon because his balls were starting to hurt-

"Weasley will be lucky if he can find his way into the sky, at this rate," a soft voice jeered behind him.

Dread filled Harry, though it did nothing to wilt his cock. He'd been avoiding this for weeks.

A confrontation with Malfoy.

Harry half turned to look at the smarmy bastard leaning against the wall, just around the corner he'd obviously been spying around.

As Harry stared at Malfoy's smug, pointed features, he tried to focus on all the reasons he_ hated_ him, tried to think about all of the ugliness that lay beneath that...not so ugly exterior...because his stupid, mindless cock kept bringing up the memory of being petrified in the Slytherin car while Malfoy fucked him.

_While he_ raped_ me, _Harry sternly reminded himself when said stupid cock hardened further. He was supposed to be angry with Malfoy - he_ was_ angry with Malfoy, but this evil prat was one of the few in the school who might be able to scratch Harry's itch and, after getting nowhere with Snape, Harry was getting desperate.

"Get bent, Malfoy," Harry spat, turning away, stubbornly resolving to stay away from the evil git no matter _how_ nice his cock may be.

"Oh, I'd say that's more _your_ style, Potter," Malfoy said, following Harry down the hall, easily catching up and keeping pace with the long legs he'd grown into over the summer. He now towered over Harry by a few inches. Harry mentally cursed, letdown as he was by his own growth spurts, still smaller than his classmates, still more stringy and waifish than he cared to be...

Malfoy edged in front of him, forcing Harry to stop within inches and look up into icy blue eyes narrow with malice. "You want to strut about like you're something. Quidditch captain, t_he Chosen One_," he sneered in a whisper, "but we both know what you are." He stepped even close, chest to chest with Harry as he slid a hand around Harry's back and down down down to grope his ass, a vicious grin on his face when he rubbed at the plug trapped between Harry's cheeks. "Still nothing but a cheap cockslut looking to get filled." He pressed on the toy, driving it in deeper, again and again and again...

Harry choked on his words, whatever comeback he'd had vanishing from his tongue as Malfoy worked the plug in and out. It was all he could do to bite back the moans and pleas itching to fall from his lips, all he could do to stay still and not cling to Malfoy's robes while his knees shook and shivers went up and down his spine.

_Merlin, _he_ wanted_...

"I bet I could have you on your knees right now, get you to suck my cock with those pretty lips of yours right here where everyone could see. And you'd_ like_ it, wouldn't you?" Malfoy whispered heatedly into his ear while Harry fought to keep still and control his breathing because he was felt out of breath, trapped by the arms wrapped him, manipulating him, making him_ want_-

A hand closed around Harry's, dragged it forward to press against Malfoy's crotch and the hard-on there, so lovely and thick.

Harry whimpered, wanting it, _hating_ himself for wanting it, for wanting a taste...

"Merlin, what I wouldn't give for all of Slytherin to see you like this. The cockwhore hero, gagging for boy after boy to line up and stuff themselves down every hole the great Harry Potter has- Hey!"

Malfoy staggered, thrown off balance by the sudden shove Harry gave him.

Before Malfoy could regain his bearings, Harry shot off down the passageway, dodging poorly aimed curses and petty swearing, not stopping until he was certain he'd finally lost the git.

When he finally locked himself into a bathroom, it was Malfoy's face Harry pictured as he stripped his own cock, Malfoy's thick length sinking into him as he charmed the plug bigger, plunging in and out of his needy hole until he came, half-satisfied and angry with himself all over again.

Nov 9, 1996

Fred stilled inside Harry, balls deep. "Circe, I've missed this." Fred ran his hands up and down Harry's narrow hips, absently tracing over the curious pale scars there and over his belly. Harry and Dad said they were from a curse, but if Fred didn't know better, _he'd_ say they looked like-

"Oi! What am I? Aunt Myrtle?" George gripped, only half irritated with his brother because he couldn't possibly be _entirely_ mad, not when his own cock was buried in Harry's throat as the boy tried to suck him blind. "Easy, Harry love, my cock isn't going anywhere."

_Not much, anyway_, George reckoned, hips rocking back and forth a little, never _really_ pulling out of that throat...

When Harry had written them, desperate, it had been a stroke of Fred's genius to meet Harry at the Hog's Head for a little _playtime_ on the Hogsmeade weekend that followed Gryffindor's Quidditch victory. It was also why George agreed Fred could have first crack at that tight little arse once they'd gotten Harry up into one of the rooms, making sure to slide the bartender a few galleons to ensure... _discretion_.

"He did say he'd missed us, George."

"Or rather _parts _of us..."

Harry hummed around George's cock, distracting him so badly that he didn't notice something move on the wall-hanging behind Fred, the eye of the figure changing shape and color, becoming the eye of the bartender, who now had full view of the Boy-Who-Lived taking it from both ends.

In the secret passage behind the wall-hanging, Aberforth fumbled with his robes, wrapping a grimy, wizened hand around his hardening cock as he imagined himself in one of the redhead's place, fucking that tight hole or savaging that innocent face until spit puddled on the floor.

Then again, the boy couldn't be so innocent, not with the needy sounds he made, taking everything, so greedy...

Aberforth pulled a cord on the wall. When he blinked his eye, the blink worked like the flash of a camera, magically capturing a picture of the room, the images developing on special paper sitting in a bin nearby. He pulled the cord again and again and again, getting beautiful moving angles of Harry Potter as he worshipped cock for hours until_ finally_ the trio staggered from the room.

The redheads treated the well-used slut to a butterbeer, served by Aberforth himself in the same dirty mug the bartender had come in while enjoying the peepshow.

_Drink up, cunt,_ Aberforth thought as he watched the famous Harry Potter (and apparent cocksleeve) drain his cum and butterbeer with a look of bliss. _We'll see what else that body is good for, won't we?_

Aberforth sank his cock into Potter's ass, his way already slick from the three men he'd watched the boy service, one after another, head covered in a cloth fitted with only a hole for his mouth, a hole now thoroughly soiled with spit and cum.

He wasn't gentle with the boy. Merlin, if anything, he knew the boy was used to a little bit of rough now, so he punished the sloppy hole, his wizened balls slapping against Potter's perfect ass, reveling in the high pitched whines the boy made as he was soundly fucked for a fourth time.

"Fuck him harder," one of the men goaded.

All three were kneeling on the bed in front of Potter, fisting themselves, looking to get one last jolly before their time was up.

It wasn't long before all of them spilled on the hood, making streaks of cum land where eyes should be or even in Potter's panting mouth. Aberforth held out until the last man had finished before finally-

"Ah!" Aberforth cried out, stilling inside the boy.

"Leave," Aberforth grunted. His breath rattled unsteadily while he held a vice grip on Potter's hips.

The men all looked at each other, hesitating.

"Now!"

Grumbling to themselves, they redressed and left, more than one eyeing the boy still speared on Aberforth's cock.

"You did good, Potter." He withdrew with a slick sound, cum oozing from the loose hole. "How about we keep this little arrangement standing? Every Hogsmeade weekend, you make a detour into the Hog's Head, eh?"

Tiredly, Harry nodded, his shaking limbs barely holding himself up from collapsing on the bed.

What could he do but agree?

With the photos Aberforth had threatened him with just minutes after Harry had parted ways with the twins, Harry hadn't much choice but to follow the dirty old man around the back of the bar into a secret room. The bartender had drawn a hood over his head and left the room, returning scant minutes later with three others who wasted no time in manhandling Harry, fucking him hard and rough.

There had been little time to think, and once the hood was over his head, Harry hadn't wanted to think at all, swept under a familiar tide of submission to men who only wanted him for his body, not some stupid scar on his head or ideas that Harry could 'save' them.

It was all oddly..._freeing, _like it had been during the summer holidays.

So…The bartender wanted to blackmail Harry Potter into sex. Weird sex. With random strangers.

If he expected much of a fight, the bartender was going to be disappointed.

"Harry!"

As he broke from his already halting stride, Harry's backside gave a throb, still none too happy with his recent activities. The ache made him stumble a bit, but he managed to mask it as he turned to find Hermione and Luna coming up the path from Hogwarts.

"There you are!" Hermione flung her arms around Harry in a neck-breaking hug that threatened to choke him. "Where have you_ been?_ It's been ages since you disappeared. I was worried something had happened."

Luna smiled at Harry through a tuft of Hermione's bushy hair. "She was quite beside herself, you see. You might want to let someone know when you want a quiet moment with your lover. We could have gone looking for snargaluff pods instead."

"L-lover?" Hermione stammered, finally releasing Harry. "What love- Luna, there's no such thing- what's this about a lover?"

Luna started humming to herself while Harry floundered, mouth agape as he struggled to explain himself. Hermione, crossed her arms, looking lost and hurt.

"Look- it wasn't like I was never going to tell you" - a blatant lie, he'd have taken everything to his grave - "I just...I didn't know how to talk about it, so..."

"So you lied," Hermione finished for him, sounding far calmer than she looked.

"Yeah, I guess so..." Harry rubbed absently at the back of his neck, feeling awkward to be talking about something so...personal...with his friend. He didn't like lying to Hermione, but this wasn't something she would ever understand and Harry hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings. But honestly, he hadn't thought she'd find out.

Thanks Luna...

"So who is she?" Hermione sniffed and that's when Harry's mind when blank.

"Er, about that-"

"I don't think Harry is much into girls anymore," Luna offered helpfully, then humming some off-key tune.

Hermione blinked. "You're...gay?"

"Um..." Astonishingly, Harry hadn't troubled himself over labels (they hadn't seemed to be much to worry about, in the grand scheme of things). "Yeah…I- I like guys." Or at least parts of them. A lot.

"Anyone I know?" Hermione asked, the arch in her tone showing she was still hurt.

"Actually…I kinda want to keep that private for now- not because I don't trust you, 'Mione," he hurried to reassure her, "I just…I just want something to myself. A lot of my life is so damn _public_, I-"

Hermione flung her arms around him in another bone-crushing hug. "You don't have to explain, Harry, it's okay. I'm just happy that you're happy."

Harry returned the hug, clutching her to him as a wave of emotion threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He was so grateful to have her as a friend. She might get hung up on rules and order and lost in her own sense of right and wrong, but she was a steadfast friend who had always been by his side, and he couldn't ask for more than that.

Hermione eventually let him go, her eyes misty with unshed tears. "Ahem…so we have a little time left in Hogsmeade, anyone fancy a butterbeer?"

"Sounds great," Harry grinned. Luna hummed in agreement and they head off towards Madame Rosmerta's.

"You know we should hang out more often," Luna said airily, skipping on every other step. "It's nice spending time with other queer people."

Hermione squinted at her in confusion. "But Luna- I'm not-" Luna stepped closer and laced her fingers with Hermione's, smiling at her with such brightness that not only did Hermione blush, thoroughly flustered, but Harry did as well. Hermione didn't say anymore, but she didn't let go of Luna's hand either, even smiled shyly at Luna.

For Harry, it was almost a relief.

After Gryffindor won their first Quidditch match, Ron had celebrated the victory with Lavender and Hermione had been…quite upset about it. Once again, a sort of rift had formed in their little group, with Ron drifting off to do his thing, leaving Harry and Hermione to their own devices. Harry couldn't blame him, but he hated seeing how torn up Hermione had gotten, her own crush pushed to the wayside as Won-Won and Lav-Lav became an overnight thing.

As they walked down the street, Harry made furtive glances their way. Luna could be good for her, he decided. She might be flighty and downright absent minded at times, but Luna had proved herself a trustworthy friend. Her imagination and openness could ground Hermione's lofty, set ways.

It was an odd match, but…it just might work...

Harry held open the pub door for them, smiling fondly after them, despite the bittersweet pang of jealousy in his heart.

It was hard enough to find a good steady lay to fulfill his needs, but how was the "Chosen One" to find real and true partner?


End file.
